


Dandelion Revolution

by themidnightrhapsody



Series: Candy Hearts [2]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-10 13:21:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themidnightrhapsody/pseuds/themidnightrhapsody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're somewhere between losing and finding, and maybe you're just kidding yourself. You're not good enough. Could be your disease has already killed you. But maybe, just maybe, this Road Trip from Hell can be your cure.  Larxiné AU, sequel to Candy Hearts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And Passion Slips

**Author's Note:**

> If you're not coming over from Candy Hearts, you'll probably not understand the context of this fic. That's not to say that you can't read this by itself; I'll try to get enough exposition in here. But you'll probably think this is totally stupid (not to mention completely out of character!) if you don't know how these characters got here, why they behave the way they do, and why Naminé is so fucking ridiculous. Not to shamelessly whore my other fic or anything, but I hope you do go and read it. It's not much of a tale, but I'm sort of attached to it.
> 
> About the title…well, it's not really an attempt at being clever. Just like there was significance in Candy Hearts, there's significance here. Telling you what it is would probably give away the core of the entire story, so I won't, but it's pretty easy to figure out. (Also, it kind of sounds like a band, which makes me laugh.) Continuing with the trend set in Candy Hearts, chapter titles will either be song titles or lyrics, but again won't have much to do with the chapters themselves – they'll just set a mood. Relevance, not influence. This chapter length is also a little shorter than they'll be; I want to continue with the Candy Hearts style as much as possible, so consider this a prologue. Updates will also be much slower; I'm in college now, I'm still working on that retarded Roxas/Axel chapter fic, and I'm also in the middle of revising a novel. Please bear with me.
> 
> This fic is absolutely fraught with Disney references. Since they're on a road trip, I'm seriously fleshing out the world they live in; everything is either Disney or Kingdom Hearts related, partly because I love Disney but mostly because I'm completely ignorant about Final Fantasy.

 

I can't even begin to understand why I am where I am now: alone in a dubious motel, inexplicably freezing my ass off in curtainless, semen-soaked Room 103 and wondering why the  _fuck_  I couldn't have kept my stupid mouth shut.

I'm pretty sure Larxene hates me now – I mean, even more than she did already – and I'm also pretty sure she's living it up in some five-star hotel, if she's not already on her way out of Go City.

It was a mistake to come here, even when we were getting on like a house on fire. On paper, this place is like a modern Utopia with the exception of a shitty selection at Bueno Nacho, but of course things that look too good to be true usually are. Go City is clean, except the places you don't see. The police force kicks ass, but what they don't say in the brochure is that there's so much major crime here that the little people get ignored. Or stomped on.

I bet if a murderer came in through the window right now, nobody would even bother to wonder who was screaming. Not when some douchebag just robbed six banks and almost killed the chief of police. Besides, this place is so sleazy they'd probably think I was playing some kind of sex game.

Totally plausible. If it was Larxene, and not a murderer. Well, okay, not even then; she says she loves me, but she won't even touch me unless she's angry. I'd psychoanalyze her, but then I'd get all anxious about my own self-worth and when we left Traverse Town I  _promised_  myself I would stop doing that.

Merde.

I guess this whole thing stems from Marluxia, and the car crash, and that day in the old house when she beat me up and then kissed me so much I forgot what oxygen was. I'm still really touchy and she's trying to pretend he never existed and sometimes, a little traitorous part of me wishes he were here because I still love him. I think she knows that, and that's why she's so on edge; she's losing me to a dead man and there isn't even anything to lose and what did I say about self-analysis, Naminé?

Jesus Christ on a stick. Even when I'm scared out of my wits I have time to find ten different reasons why I don't deserve her. It's no wonder she believes it too.

What am I going to say tomorrow?

This is how it's probably going to go down: Larxene's going to text me and give me an address, and I'll show up. She'll apologize but she won't mean it, I'll forgive her and I won't mean it, we'll get in her van and find some awesome local attraction to give us something to focus on, and we'll pretend this never happened. I never spent the night here. I won't talk about it.

It's not that she values my silence, per se. She's always asking me what I'm thinking, asking for my opinions. I think it's partly so she can laugh at me, but also because Marluxia valued my opinion, and so somehow that means she has to value it too. I don't know. I shouldn't be thinking about this. Every time I go over what I've done wrong, it just gets all mixed up and muddled in my head. I told her she was beautiful. That any man would be nuts to refuse her. Is she mad because I'm not a man or something? Does she think...what even goes through her head? It's a fucking tornado. I don't get how complimenting her like that, especially because that guy said all those derogatory things about her, would make her mad. Maybe she's just sick of me. I get sick of me too, sometimes; I wish I could banish myself to some sleazy Go City motel.

...Never mind. Nobody deserves this. Goddamn, you could probably catch an STD just by looking at this bed. No matter how hard I think about Larxene, I can't get the gross feeling to go away. I'd take a shower, but I have a feeling it's seen more than the bed has.

Maybe I should just go to Bueno Nacho. They're open all night, and I don't think I've eaten since last night anyway. We went to Chez Couteau in Middleton and it was the first time in a week that she looked at me without some snarky or degrading comment. I was so embarrassed to feel good just because I was dressed up in this pink getup which would have looked much better on –

Kairi's another sore point between us. I'll never get over her. Even Marluxia can't stand up to her. It's not that Larxene's third string or anything, but I don't know if that's because Kairi and Marluxia are dead or because she's beautiful and smart and sexy and just…amazing.

I wish I could tell her that without fucking it up. It might solve a lot of problems. Instead, I constantly lose control of my mouth and stupidity comes pouring out, as per usual. The difference now is, if I don't control myself, I'll lose someone – not to death, or on purpose, but because I'm completely ridiculous.

I want Zexion. He'd tell me what to do. But I can't bother him with my neurotic messes right now; that issue with Darla is still going strong, and I was fucking naïve to think that it'd just go away because she's a lying whore. So was he, when I think about it. I always forget he's only twenty-six. The perfect age for the death of idealism. I don't know how I know this, because I only turned twenty-four yesterday, but sometimes it's like I'm ageless. I just…see. I'd be all dramatic and call it a burden, but it'd be too close to the truth.

I don't like telling the truth. It makes me feel slimy. Funny how I value honesty, but only from bad liars.

You know what? Fuck this. I don't have to deal with this shit. I'm not in Traverse Town anymore. I'm not trapped anymore. I made the decision to come here, I made the decision to travel with Larxene, and I'm not in the mood to fall to pieces. Tomorrow she's probably going to do the same thing she's done three times in the past two weeks. Even if she doesn't, there's no point in agonizing until there's something to agonize about.

I won't let that happen. Agony is for people who don't have any control, but I  _do._

I hate being left behind, but somehow, I've managed every single time. She may hate me, and I may not feel the same way about her that I did two weeks ago, but whatthefuckever. I'm going to follow Marluxia's advice and feed myself, track down Larxene's hotel somehow, and crawl into bed with her whether she likes it or not.

Something has to give and for once in my pathetic, miserable life, it's not going to be me.


	2. Ghost On A Movie Screen

 

To paraphrase, Cincinnatus C. said everyone was a parody. I mean, in his case, it was, and Nabokov was a either a genius – which is my personal opinion – or a serious fucking nutjob, but still, there's some truth to that. I feel like I'm in a story or a dream and everything here is all played up, fucked up, and planned out. Some people might say God's calling me, or I'm having an existential crisis or whatever, but I know what this is.

This is me thinking about running. Looking for any excuse I can to get the fuck out of here.

Larxene's breathing is slow and pretty next to me. She's always beautiful, even when she sleeps, even when she hates me. I've got everything I could ever want at this moment; the love of my life in my arms for once, a warm bed, a secret confession.

I don't love you, Naminé. I never did. I don't know what the hell we're doing here or why, but I don't think I care. Maybe I'll never love you, but someday I might seriously consider it.

So. Fucking. Beautiful. It's probably the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me. Tomorrow she'll tell me she loves me, but an hour ago…an hour ago, we took a break from this charade and became Real. She didn't ruin it by kissing me, either.

So of course I'm thinking about running. Everything good ends up going bad. Marluxia used to say that everything in life was an accident, from evolution to agriculture to this morning's breakfast. I'm scared this accident will right itself and I'll lose everything. Again. It sounds selfish and really kind of disgusting, when you think about it, because I'd still have Zexion and Sweet Memories and even maybe my dad, but whenever you lose something it always seems to be more important than what you have.

If you don't appreciate what you have before you lose it, you never had it to begin with. I hang onto everything intangible, like a conceptual packrat. It's never enough. The day I decided Zexion was worth keeping – after the party and the kiss – was the day I promised myself I would stop pushing people away or just let go completely, but just like promises to other people, promises to yourself are pointless.

I can feel Larxene's panties on my thigh. I could sneak out and be long gone by the time she woke up. I could pack up everything and fly somewhere. Out of the country, even. I could see the Narnia Museum in London or get lost in St. Petersburg.

She's breathing on my chest now. She moves in her sleep, especially when she's about to wake up. Can she somehow subconsciously tell what I'm thinking? Would she laugh at me if she knew? Would she call me weak and pathetic? Would she even care?

Of course she would. And I can't believe I was just thinking about  _leaving_  her. I mean, I can; that's kind of my MO; but she's been thrown away before. I remember having that non-conversation in Crystal Fissure and maybe she wouldn't be heartbroken, but how do you do that to a person?

Hot damn, I've grown a conscience. This is a weird thing for me.

"Mm, what time is it," she asks sleepily, blinking. I didn't even realize I was watching for it.

"Too early," I reply. I want her to go back to sleep, but I also really don't want her to go back to sleep. I'm in kind of a sucky situation here.

Her eyes snap open fully. "What are you  _doing_  here? Didn't I leave you…somewhere?"

Yes. Go Tower, to be precise. The, you booked a swanky room, got yourself drunk, and let me in when you otherwise wouldn't have. "I couldn't sleep without you…and…you said I could come back."

Close enough. Lying to the one you're supposed to love is supposed to be bad and everything, but it's not like we really believe each other anyway. To be honest, I'm not sure whether ours is a relationship or a giant power struggle to the death. To the pain. Whatever.

"Whatever." She stretches like a cat – oh  _god,_  don't do that right next to me – and gets up so she's kneeling. "Someone put a mechanical bull in my skull last night. Get the Aspirin out of my bag. Oh, and while you're at it, get your pills out of my bag too."

She's going to count them. I hate that. When she's counting it either means I have to flush them or take them, and half the time she makes me leave the door open so she knows I'm not throwing up what I ate. I think she thinks I must have developed bulimia or something since I haven't gained any weight, but it's not true.

Actually, I think she just likes to control me. Sometimes I think I should do something bad just to see what she'd do. If I threw up on purpose, would she hit me? Would she call me names? Would she tell me I'm disgusting and pathetic for having no willpower?

Whatever.

"I didn't take them last night," I tell her, but I get both bottles out anyway. I've found a new way to get out of taking my pills; I have a stash in the zipper pocket of my makeup bag. Since I use my makeup bag to hold my sewing kit, she'd never even look there. I don't even know why I'm saving them. Knowing me, I'm just holding them because someday I might want to take them and I don't like wasting. I'm irrational like that.

"Obviously. I had them."

"I could…get to them more easily if…you just let me keep them."

"Sure, but you'd probably take them all and die or something. Your friend told me you might try it again, and because he'd probably sneak in and kill me in my sleep otherwise, I'm watching out for you. You know, you should thank me, not complain."

Zexion, I hate you so much right now.

Wait. When did they even talk? "When…did he say that?"

Christ. If I could punch my voice box in the face, I would. Can't it just stop sounding like a fucking river?

"I called him when you disappeared. If you didn't want me talking to him, you shouldn't have left your phone. And if I'd have known you came with a manual, little girl, I probably would've left you in Traverse Town."

Liar, liar, pants on fire. Actually, stretching like that, she probably is hot enough to set her own drawers on fire and did I  _actually_  just think that? I'm so glad she can't read minds. Well, maybe if she  _could_  read my mind, she'd stop taking everything I say the wrong way. Can't even compliment a girl…

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh." She downs her Aspirin without water, which I once upon a time could do but now makes me gag, and opens my bottle. "Here, just start taking them in the morning."

"You shouldn't listen to Zexion, he's a compulsive liar," I tell her.

She looks at me funny. I'm about to ask what's wrong, but she says, quietly, "So are you. I shouldn't listen to you, either."

"But-"

"You always say shit that isn't true. At least Zack, or Xylophone, or whatever his name is, made sense."

Wait.

Whoa.

Whoa.

Okay, I think I understand now. "I may not be…the most honest person, but…I won't lie without cause."

She rolls her eyes. "Meaning?"

"I might answer with a lie, but when I start a conversation I'll always tell the truth."

I'm afraid to look at her. I know she's holding out a pill for me and I know she's trying to discount what I've just said. She'll probably get me to take the pill and she'll probably just ignore what I said, but…I actually was telling the truth then. Why lie to someone when there's no reason?

"Just…take the damn medicine. We're heading to Devil's Bayou today and I want to eat before we get on the road."

I want to tell her I meant every word, when we talked at the tower. I want to tell her she's beautiful. I want to tell her she's the most important part of my life right now, even though she's a bitch and treats me like trash and doesn't love me even though she says she does.

I want to tell her everything in the world and make it all make sense. But I can't.


	3. She'll Do Fine

 

Some girls can stand there in front of the mirror for hours, messing with their hair, putting on lipstick and blush and covering up what they wanted to see in the first place. I never understood that. If you only want people to see what you've done to cover up your natural self, you can never take it off. You're lying to the entire world. And if you wear makeup when kissing someone, you just leave smears on their lips or face or wherever else and that's got to be uncomfortable and awkward.

I hate makeup. I also hate mirrors. Looking into a mirror is worse than any horror movie. My arms are too small, my eyes are too big, my shoulders are disproportionate, and…well, when you look in a mirror, you can see the truth. Maybe that's why girls put on makeup; not for others, but for themselves.

I miss the part where I never worried about this stuff. Suddenly I have someone in my life who likes pretty things and dislikes ugly things and I'm here with this stupid tube in my hands wondering what will happen if I get it on my teeth. Well, if I can't open my mouth, I can't eat, so maybe…

I'm only doing this because Devil's Bayou is so far from home. If I experiment with this and I still don't like it, nobody will expect me to keep doing it except Larxene, but I think she might leave me soon anyway. I'm not only ugly on the outside; I'm ugly on the inside, too. The only thing I have to offer is a complete willingness to take her bullshit and get snapped in half if she's so inclined. If that's the only thing she looks for in a girl, well, she could find that kind of person anywhere.

Seriously. Anywhere. Apparently, she's pretty famous, and I was the only one who didn't know. I guess it's not really my fault for being allergic to fashion magazines and underwear ads, but you'd think I'd have seen her once or twice. It doesn't even matter. I don't want this to be a story, like oh yeah, I dated a model once, but she was a bitch. There are probably a million other people who would be willing to take that role, but I want something real. It's a stupid desire, but…

Ugh, lips are not supposed to be the color of grapes, I know it. They call it Passion Flash, but it's – oh wait. Passion Flash is the brand, but the color is called Midnight Mystique. How completely retarded. Can't it just be called, you know, purple? Grape, maybe? Midnight Mystique sounds like something Axel would call Larxene if he wants to get Roxas to roll his eyes and ignore him.

…Maybe he's onto something. He knows exactly what to do or say at any given time to get people to do what he wants. I have that talent, too…maybe I should start using it consciously. Maybe I should  _make_  Larxene like me, instead of waiting for her to notice that I'm not lying when I say I really, really like her.

My lips may not look natural, but I bet if I made myself look pretty, she'd pay attention. She likes pretty things. It's never really crossed my mind before now, to be honest, but…well, she's currently away somewhere, and I bet I have time to put on a new face before she gets back for dinner. We have reservations at the Riverboat and I told them secretly they couldn't take her money, because a) I don't want her to think I'm mooching off her because she's rich, and b) she never lets me pay for anything.

I don't think Larxene would appreciate it if I got into her things, so I guess it's time to go shopping. Ugh. Why on earth does anyone like that activity? Spending money on pointless things, or worse, window shopping, is inane. But I'm a girl on a mission now.

Mission: Get Larxene to Like Me, otherwise known as Makeup Shopping.

True story: there was a whole month in seventh grade in which I wore makeup every single day. It was awful. Oh, Larxene, the things I do for you…

It's kind of weird to be grabbing an actual key again after spending a couple of weeks traveling from hotel to hotel and having nothing but key cards. But this bed and breakfast is old enough to use real, solid keys. I like real keys; they unlock stuff, but you could also use a key to gouge out someone's eyes. It's why that pepper spray Lexaeus gave me for my twenty-second birthday is purely decorative.

True story: I almost always end up spraying Lysol in my eyes when I clean my house. Knowing my luck and coordination, I'd probably spray myself with pepper spray, too. At least I know which end of a key is pointy.

Now where do I go for makeup? This lipstick, which was supposed to be red and also an apology gift for Lisa but is now on my lips, is from the gift shop in Go Tower, but obviously I can't get anything else there. Blargh, I guess I'll have to go to the grocery store.

It's only about a thirty second walk from Ellie Mae's, which is fortunate, because Devil's Bayou is almost as ugly as I am. What Larxene sees in this place is beyond my comprehension; it's a shithole. She says she likes the facilities – that she uses this place as a retreat whenever life is particularly stressful. Well, why the hell did she bring me then?

Oh, here's an employee.

"Uh…pardon me," I say.

"How may I help you?"

Wow. I'm surprised to not hear the accent. I mean, I shouldn't be, but I am. Just like I expect to hear people slur their  _t_  sounds and pronounce a long  _a_  as a short  _e_  when I'm in Traverse Town and I'm weirded out when somebody like Xion comes in and throws me.

"I'm looking for makeup." I can't look her in the eye. How pathetic is this? Twenty-four and I'm buying my first real bottle of mascara. "I've never bought it myself before."

"Oh…aisle two, right next to the feminine products and diapers and juice. Would you like me to show you?"

"No thanks," I tell her, and head toward aisle two. There are exactly four aisles here. I don't expect much selection, but at least they have some. I've made up my mind and I can't go back on this now.

Now, which colors should I get? There's bright pink blush – no. I'm skipping blush for now. I don't know how to use it and I'm pretty sure showing up looking like a clown is a step in the wrong direction. I guess I'll get some black mascara and…grey eye shadow? Brown? Blue? Dammit, why does this have to be so hard?

Okay. I'll go with grey, because it'll probably counteract the obnoxious grape color on my lips. Eyeliner and…I'm stopping here. If I get more I'll have to try it and I only have so much time before I need to meet Larxene. I don't have time for experimentation. How is it that I can be an artist and still have no clue how makeup works? This should be deeply embarrassing. It probably is, but I'm still more worried about impressing her.

The girl I spoke to earlier is now at a register. I haven't seen any other people in here – jeez, this is like the Traverse Town grocery store with no annoying childhood acquaintances to avoid. "Got what you wanted?"

"Yes. Um, thank you," I reply, a little dumbly. This is sounding more and more like a bad idea, especially with the look the cashier is giving me.

"Well, that'll be twenty-six forty-six," she tells me.

I will not faint.

I will not speak out in outrage.

I will not do anything potentially embarrassing.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Why is it so expensive to buy what essentially amounts to goop in a tube? Come on. I know I forgot to price check over there, but…goddamn. Now that I call up what I saw but didn't pay attention to, the mascara alone was eleven. The eyeliner was another, and the eye shadow compact was another seven. Well, those are rounded numbers, but  _still,_  I'm kind of appalled. Do women spend this much on a monthly basis? Bimonthly? Biannually?

Gah. The price for vanity could potentially be starving for a couple of days, depending on your budget. True story: when I was first starting out with Sweet Memories, I actually ate every day, and I couldn't have sacrificed twenty-six munny just for goop in a tube.

Jesus Christ on a stick.

I hand over the required amount and ignore the feeling of my soul dying a little.

"Thank you, come again," she says.

"Yeah," I reply, but I probably won't.

Ellie Mae's Bed and Breakfast has a weird crooked front door – I didn't even  _see_  that last night. I was so tired Larxene had to half-drag me. It looks strangely beautiful in this setting. I'll have to draw it when I get a chance – maybe tonight. After our date. I know she doesn't consider it a date, but I'll allow myself that secret satisfaction. As long as she doesn't specifically state that it isn't…

Anyway. Now that I'm back in my room, I need to figure out this…makeup stuff.

I pick up the eye shadow rather dubiously. There's a little wand in a dip on the compact, so I guess I'll have to use this. Christ, I'm like a little kid. Okay. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

I'm like the fucking engine that could. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can. Going up a hill is cake compared to putting on eyeliner – no. I can't think like that.

Forget that steam engine crap, I'm a fucking bullet train. I have artist hands – steady and precise. I have practice standing still and looking contrite, which helps with eye makeup. My eyes don't water very much unless I'm angry, so this works for me…ugh. I look like a cheap whore trying to go Goth. How did I ever think this was a good idea? And I can't even take it off, because my face will be all red and gross. Dammit, what do I do now?

I guess I'll just put on that slutty black dress she likes and hope for the best.

…I'm so fucked. And not even in the good way.


	4. But Love Is Not An Option

"You look like a cheap whore."

Who saw that coming? Oh yeah, I did. I don't know whether to roll my eyes, look away, or…no. _No._  I'm not going to cry. I'm not a –

"Are you… _crying?"_

Dammit.

Larxene looks gorgeous as always in her black pinstripe slacks/jacket combo and white blouse. I think I prefer this business look to the slutty look; anyone can look like a slut. It means something when you're a woman in a suit and scarf-tie and still look like a masterpiece. Besides, I don't really want anyone else to see her legs. They're totally mine, even if she'd be appalled to know I think that. I'm a possessive bitch that way.

"No, I'm allergic to cypress. Good thing it's a mild allergy, or we'd have a problem."

"Well, you should have told me that before we came." God, her tone is so smug and evil. I kinda want to smack her, which is new for me. I mean, I have violent fantasies all the time, but not about her.

"I told you I didn't want to come here," I say. I don't know why I'm getting so argumentative. Seriously, there's no good reason for this.

"Yeah, but you didn't say  _why._  And anyway, you should have bought some antihistamine while you were out getting your hooker makeup."

…Ouch. I lied about allergies and she  _still_  managed to make that hurt. Usually I feel really good when I get away with lying about something big, but not now. Why do I still like her so much? She takes all the fun out of everything not pertaining to her. It's like I have to make her my world or I'll never be happy again. Not that I was a barrel of sunshine before, but now I've resorted to hooker makeup and fake cypress allergies.

Wait, maybe I was onto something there. If I make her my world, there's less of a chance it'll fall apart again.

"I'm sorry," I tell her. I'm not sure what I'm sorry for, or if I'm actually sorry, but it seems like the right thing to say. She's sitting across from me – I wish I could be right next to her. Why do I want that? Why am I okay with her treating me like this?

Is it because of Marluxia? Am I experiencing some major guilt here? Do I just miss him, and subconsciously use Larxene as a substitute? No. As bad as he was when we were teenagers, he never made me cry. I actually really, truly loved him, and he never made me cry. Larxene's just…different in all categories. I can't even logic my way out of this because nothing makes sense.

She rolls her eyes. "Whatever."

I feel like I just got kicked in the stomach. Thing is, though, I shouldn't. It's not as if she showers me with love at every opportunity – it's not as if she loves me. It should feel like freedom; if she doesn't love me, I'm free to leave when she gets too close. But I don't want to give up on this, and wow, isn't it funny that the only people I'd never give up on are Zexion and Larxene? Zexion with his neuroses and his fucked up life and his beautiful, broken mind, who could never get too attached to me, no matter what he says. Larxene who can't love me, no matter how much she thinks she wants to.

Jesus Christ on a stick, what is it about me that makes me so unlovable?

Well, as Larxene says, whatever. I can't think about this right now. In fact, I'd rather not think about it ever.

There's a kick on my ankle and the look she's giving me sends me to the Pleistocene for a moment and whoa, she was talking that whole time? I nod and hope it's the right answer, because otherwise I'm kinda busted. Not that I wasn't already, but if I can come across as absent-minded and not just a jerk who's ignoring her…girlfriend? Can I call her my girlfriend?

Focus, scatterbrain.

"I'm sorry," I say again.

"Whatever." This is becoming a pattern, like the separate hotels and the counting of pills. She likes her patterns, I think. "You should order something big so we can have leftovers tomorrow. I don't feel like cooking and I'd be crazy to let  _you_  near the kitchen."

True story: Ellie Mae's is almost like a tiny home you can rent for a few days. It's a B&B, but each suite has a kitchenette and plain dishware. It's…kind of cute, and I feel a little crazy even for thinking that because I don't  _do_  cute.

Cutesy  _and_  likeable? Blasphemy.

"Okay."

Is it totally weird that I say  _okay,_  but it's probably just a substitute for something like  _yes master_  or _oh god keep talking_  or something? She's taken over me, my brain, my entire fucking life. My pills are in her bag and I've tried on makeup for her and yeah, I think about leaving every five seconds, but let's be honest: I'll never really leave her.

I'm such a mess. It's horrible to think this, but I wish Marluxia would just swoop in and make it better. Except, whoops, he can't, because he's dead. And I can't even have a proper cry because, well, crying's for other people. And because it wouldn't make sense. And because you can't stay sane while you mourn people. And because sometimes, Larxene looks at me like I'm the solution to all of life's problems and I want to be that for her.

It's not that I want to be helpful. I'm not the kind of person who ingratiates herself so she can feel good when she makes someone smile. I'm selfish and petty and I want  _her._  I would do anything, up to and including: eating, wearing a collar and leash, murder. Just as long as I got to keep her. If she keeps me, I get to keep her.

Yeah, it's kind of fucked up. So am I. And maybe it's not healthy, but since she doesn't love me either we can be as unhealthy as we like. We can both be possessive bitches because emotions and connections aren't huge factors here.

Okay, I can deal with this. I'm wearing hooker makeup for her because I want her to be  _mine._

Her smile is absolutely beautiful. It's the smile that makes me shake. It's the smile of a predator. It's my favorite smile, not counting the tiny real one she thinks nobody sees. "Good girl."

Should that be sexy? Well, it is.

I'm still looking at her when the waitress comes. I can't stop looking because she won't stop smiling and it's kind of awesome, when you think about it. I'm watching her mouth move and the waitress is doing this little dance with her toes. Maybe she recognizes Larxene from some photo shoot or other, or maybe it's just that she's trying to be polite while edging away in terror.

Well, Larxene said she uses this place as a retreat, so maybe it's just that this waitress knows her and doesn't want to get on her bad side or something.

"What? Are you  _kidding_  me?"

"I'm sorry, Miss, but-"

Larxene stands up and puts her hands on the table in front of her. "I have been coming here for _three years,_  and we've never had a problem before. You know what? Whatever. Come on, Naminé, we're leaving."

I won't argue. It's not like I really care if we stay. I jump up and scurry out behind her; she's moving really fast, and I'm too short to keep up with her unless I practically run. She's sexy when she's angry. Well, okay, she's sexy all the time, but when she walks fast her backside does this little wiggle and I'm pretty sure I shouldn't be checking her out in the middle of a restaurant so I'll have to watch my feet.

She grabs my hand and pulls me out the door, nearly yanking my arm off in the process, and pushes me up against the wall outside. Again, she says, "You look like a cheap whore."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, I'm just annoyed you'd let other people see you like that.  _I_  think it's hot." She leans over and oh god, oh god, oh god.

"You like cheap whores?"

Fuck you, mouth. Thanks for ruining the moment.

Fortunately, she doesn't seem to be insulted. If anything, she seems amused. "Only if they're you."

"Oh."

"Shut up." And she kisses me.

Ho.

Lee.

Shit.

Larxene always kisses me like she's angry, all teeth and electricity. Tonight it's like she owns me. She owns my mouth, she owns my body, and she wants me to know it. This is a perfect mix of gentleness and power, and maybe I do miss the teeth a little but not enough to ask for it. I like that her hands aren't wandering; this is all about her. It's like she wants me to know I belong to her, and I already know that because it's been true…pretty much since I met her that day in the restaurant.

I remember thinking I'd just met the love if my life. That kind of objectification is thankfully devoid of feelings, but I think…maybe I'm falling for her. Just a little. So far she's been like an addiction, a companion by force. Not that I didn't want her. I did. I  _do._  But it's an unspoken thing that we don't actually love each other.

This isn't good. I shouldn't kiss her when I'm starting to feel like this, but I can't find the words to tell her to stop and it's not like I really want to anyway. She just bit my lip and I'm on fire, just a little.

She pushes my shoulders flat against the wall so I can't move. "Would you die for me?"

"Yes." Is it pathetic that I'm so needy? And that I said that without even thinking?

She looks at me speculatively. "Would you kill for me?"

"Yes."

"You would do anything for me, wouldn't you?"

I don't know why, but just her voice is making me gasp.  _"Yes."_

"Good." She grabs me again and starts pulling me. We're heading to Ellie Mae's and I'm pretty sure I can guess where this is going; I should stop her, or at least try to, but I won't. Partly because I'm selfish, but also because she's kinda scaring me. If I said  _stop_  and she didn't…I can't deal with that. I can't deal with knowing it wouldn't even matter to me, because it's Larxene and because she's quickly becoming my entire world and because I'm incapable of pushing her away, when it counts. When I should.

True story: this is  _so_  fucked up.


	5. Build Your Nest Upon My Shoulder

 

I have no idea what happened last night.

Of course, I can go over the logistics. I can do a little linear thinking, if I must; I'm not stupid, no matter how stupid I feel sometimes. But  _god,_  what the fuck  _happened_  last night? I feel like…well, either I'm walking in the clouds right now, or I want to burrow into the ground and stay there until Larxene gets bored and stops looking for me.

She didn't even  _do_  anything to me. I mean, yeah, when we got back to Ellie Mae's she grabbed my hair and forced me down and there is no way I'll be able to forget the way she sounds, the way she looks, when I make her fall to pieces. I mean, not that I could anyway, but this is a memory I'll keep with me always.

She's got lipstick on her labia. I have no idea if, so to speak, the carpet matches the drapes – and isn't  _that_  a lovely euphemism – because she's so smooth and…and she's the only one who got, you know. I can't even think it. I'm not a prude or anything, but every single word people use, every single phrase, seems cheap and stupid.

If I'm honest, I do know why I came three fucking times last night when she didn't even bother touching me sexually. It's just so  _embarrassing_  I'm not sure I'll ever be able to live it down. What possessed me to…

Oh god. The worst part is part of me wants that, as like, a permanent thing and how fucking sick do you have to be to want that?

Okay.  _Think,_  Naminé. Logic doesn't apply here, has never applied to anything having to do with Larxene, so I just have to go over the sequence of events and see what the hell made it sound like a great idea.

Grocery store. Hooker makeup. Dinner disaster (note to self: ask what happened). Orgasm number one: watching Larxene. Watching her as I, you know. And fuck, she isn't even sexy like that. I think I understand why she kept telling me to close my eyes. I couldn't, though.  _I_  was making her look like that and that was more of a turn-on than if she'd had her usual goddess look. She was messy and awkward and it was beautiful because it was my doing.

Then there was all that stuff after she pulled me up again by my hair. She was like  _why didn't you close your eyes_  and I just blurted out  _because you're gorgeous_  and she went  _can't you just fucking do what you're told once in a while?_

And what was my dumbass reply?  _What are you going to do, spank me?_

I'm almost positive I've got bruises, but…yeah. Orgasm number two.

And then she threw me down and started talking. Telling me how sick I am, how disgusting, how it's pathetic that I can't live without her, and…on and on, badmouthing me, and it got to be too much and I just…I don't know. It was like I let go, listening to her talk, but I was also getting tenser and tenser and…

Surprise, orgasm number three.

Hypothesis: I really do want her to own me, like for real own me in every way possible. The scientific method requires experiments in order to test this hypothesis. But do I really want to go down that rabbit hole?

Thing is, going down a rabbit hole inevitably ends in coming back to reality. I mean, just look at all the movies and television programs based of the Carroll books. Sometimes there's a happy ending, but most of the time you're alone with your lessons and your memories of things other people,  _normal_  people, couldn't possibly understand.

Last night something broke in me, some kind of bag holding all this toxic waste; with every little tear that ran down my face as I sobbed through my final orgasm, it trickled out of me until all that was left was an older version of the Naminé who fell in love with Kairi. I feel really good this morning. And yeah, I'm embarrassed as fuck, but now that I think about it that's not a bad thing. So regardless of what happens next between Larxene and me, I'm going to treasure this forever.

I roll over on my other side and look at her. She's looking at me with this weird expression on her face; not a bad one, just a weird one. What I didn't consider is how last night affected  _her._  What if she's not really into this kind of thing? What if she's just a bitch who takes her frustration out on whatever's convenient? I mean, that's entirely possible. And I wouldn't mind, but that would put a completely different spin on our whole…whatever this is.

Stare.

Stare.

Stare.

Okay, this is getting kind of creepy.

"Morning," I say quietly.

"Yeah," she replies. Which doesn't make any sense, but whatever. Nobody can be eloquent all the time, even someone like Larxene. Sometimes I wonder if thinking she's a goddess is just another form of objectification. What would she think if she knew? I bet she'd be flattered, which is actually not very good. People shouldn't like being objects. Then again, she's a model. Enduring worship is pretty much part of her job description.

"What are you thinking," I ask. She's fucking beautiful, but the staring is creepy.

"I..."

Oh god, don't do this. I don't know whether it's the pause or the little gulp, but this has got me on edge. I know I don't really know what's coming next, but this is the look she had back in Crystal Fissure when Marluxia implied that someone had done something irreversible to her. I don't think I can handle it if suddenly the person who caused that look was me. What did I do? Oh  _god,_  what did I do?

I move closer and touch her face. "What is it?"

She closes her eyes. "Last night, I...what I did...what I  _said._  Did it, um."

Wow. Is that all? I want to kiss her and smack her at the same time. I wonder if this is what it was like for Marluxia when we were a potential thing. Probably not; I was never confident or outspoken, so he had no basis for comparison. This is  _not_  the time to wonder what he'd say if he was alive, because she's still making that Crystal Fissure face and I need her to keep talking. She needs to get this out, whatever it is, because she wouldn't start it otherwise. It's my job to listen and make soothing noises, isn't it?

But this little, evil part of me wants her to flounder. To prove her humanity. "I don't get it."

Still not looking at me, she says, "I'm sorry about last night. I was angry, but not at you. I know it was wrong to say all that shit about you and hit you and make you-"

"Don't," I say. I'm over it. This whole apologizing thing is too bizarre for words. "Don't ever do that again."

"Which part? All of it? Cuz I'm not sure if I-"

"Don't apologize." Someone needs to be strong here, and apparently this time it's me. "I liked it."

"That's kind of the problem." She opens her eyes and pins me with them. Spell uncomfortable. "Look, if you don't give me limits, I'll just keep taking this further. I don't know how much is too much, Naminé. The last girl left me just because I bit her, but the chick before that was like some kind of slave, so dependent on me that she killed herself when I left her alone for a three-day shoot. You're not the first person I've had a...thing with, but you're the only one worth keeping. So you can't let me get away with - we've got to establish some fucking  _rules,_  okay?"

I know this is kind of a heavy subject, but I'm pretty much over the moon about what she just said. I'm the only one worth keeping?

...I guess this means I'm going to have to prove my worth. So she has self-diagnosed boundary issues? I'll try to give her boundaries. Last night I told her I'd die for her, kill for her, do  _anything_  for her; it's time to keep my word. "What kind of rules? I've never had a real relationship before."

"You consider this a relationship?"

Will not rise to the bait. Will not call her on her bullshit while she's so vulnerable. "We're traveling together, sharing a bed and discussing rules for future endeavors, so yes, I'd say this counts as a relationship."

Plus you're pretty much everything to me.

That little smile is so quick it's only my creepy stalkerish prior memorization of her face that lets me know it was there. But it was. "I don't know. A safeword or something? Tell me what you don't want to do? I'm not exactly a veteran when it comes to real relationships either, because Lydia doesn't count."

It's actually really touching that she's comfortable enough to discuss this with me, and how bizarre is this? I'm actually taking control of this conversation and I don't hate it. "I know this isn't what you want to hear, but last night...it was good. It was really good. I'm...I can't say flexible, because I can't think of anything I wouldn't like if it was you. Is there something you have in mind that  _you_ think I wouldn't like?"

"No, but it's not like I really think about this shit. You make me lose control, with your big bloodshot eyes and bones sticking out everywhere and I keep thinking, how many times do I have to hit this chick before she learns? But then you like it, and I like that, and it's a giant mess." She sounds urgent. "Don't ever bring this up again, but I really,  _really_  don't want to lose you. Sometimes I feel like killing you myself, just so I don't have to watch you starve to death or kill yourself."

Oh.

Oh.

Okay, I get it.

"Well, what if we..." Dammit, I was doing fine before, why am I so embarrassed now? "I mean, it could be like...um, you tell me what to do, and if I don't do it, you have license to do whatever you want to make me? I like being hurt, Larxene, as long as it's you, but I'm sure you could get creative. Um, maybe a rule could be don't break any of my bones, including my teeth because they're pretty. And as for the rest of the time, maybe we should do some research."

She frowns, but it's not a bad frown. "I'll consider your idea, but how would we go about researching this shit? Type 'lesbian BDSM' into Google?"

"I think you'd get porn," I tell her.

"Yeah," she replies, standing up and stretching. "We should do it anyway and send all the links to Demyx."

We share a grin, and I feel like I'm actually part of this now. She's told me I have a say in where this thing is going. She wants me in her life and it's a good thing, because I want her too. There are so many things I want to know, but I won't ask now. If this is what I think it is, I'll find out eventually. She's not like me; if I rush her she'll just close up forever. I have to be gentle, and oh god am I really having these thoughts? I  _am._  Look at me, all responsible and shit.

"I'm getting in the shower," she tells me, shedding her top. "Follow me."

To the ends of the earth. I roll over to stand and –

Oh, Jesus fucking Christ on a motherfucking  _stick._

Yep. Bruises.


	6. Enough To Drive You Nuts

 

I had a dream last night. In it, I was superpowered. I could lift heavy objects and teleport and although I wasn't a superhero or anything, I decided to use my powers to help someone.

I teleported to Darla's room in the middle of the night, wearing a demon mask, and told her to confess her lies about Zexion. I told her that if she didn't, I would come back and break her piece by piece, starting with her phalanges, then her metacarpals, then her lateral and medial malleoli, then her carpi, and so on. I told her I'd bleed her from small cuts, drag out her death until she was begging for it, and then set her on fire. And I'd leave a suicide note, detailing how sorry she was for lying, how horrible she felt, and how she couldn't face everyone once they knew, so she was getting out.

By the time you find this, I'll be long gone. Even if you look for me, I'll be dead. Jut move on and forget about the girl who almost put a man in jail out of jealousy and spite.

I woke up and for a minute, I felt relaxed. Powerful. I realized that if there was any way I could do that and not get caught - not make more trouble for Zexion - I would. I wondered if I'm one of those people who go on to become serial killers because they like it.

I woke Larxene with my mouth on her, bringing her to orgasm before she was even fully alert, and it was one of the biggest rushes I've ever had. I wondered who hurt her and entertained the idea of killing them too.

Ever since this morning, Larxene's been giving me these appraising looks, and I don't know what they mean, but I like them. I like the idea that she might punish me for it, for acting without her permission, and what kind of person am I anyway? How can I want the kind of intimate power that comes along with killing someone when I so enjoy the relationship I have with Larxene?

Maybe this is what Marluxia always saw in me. I think I want to tell Larxene about it, but I'm sorta afraid she won't want me. Besides, we haven't even established any of her stupid rules, and I don't have the maturity to discuss two big issues at the same time. This whole boundary issue, frankly, sucks balls. Which is the last thing I want to do right now, just after skiing into a pole.

Well, I may end up skiing into a pole anyway. Hot chocolate at the lodge is  _not_  worth snow up my coat, aching muscles, fearing for my life – apparently I'm only afraid of heights  _after_  I get off the lift – and having to look at her trying not to laugh every time I biff it. I wouldn't say I  _regret_  agreeing to come here, but I've added 'ski patrol' to my List of Jobs I'll Never Do. It's third on the list after 'therapist' and 'telemarketer.'

Well, okay, maybe fourth. I'd never be a prostitute either. But that's not the point. The point is, I _totally suck._  And…it really bothers me. Hey, maybe that's why I'm thinking about other things? I never realized this before, but I'm used to being good at things. Maybe it's arrogance, maybe it's irritation at finding an immovable object, but I hate being up here and I hate how competitive I feel.

Oh Christ. My nemesis is a goddamn mountain. There is something wrong with me.

"Come on, Naminé, get up," Larxene calls. I want to tell her I can't, but I think the humiliation of having to ride down in that stupid toboggan would be worse than anything that could happen on this mountain. Well, other than death. I won't let this hunk of rock and snow get the better of me.

"I'm stuck," I admit instead. I'm in a very uncomfortable position, with one ski stuck in the snow and the other out in front of me. I'm lucky my knees aren't weak, because I'm pretty sure this position could cause serious damage otherwise.

She rolls her eyes and sort of pushes herself over to me. I grab her hand and she tries to pull me up, but instead I just sorta slide and try to hide my shaking. I'm not good at all this...athletic stuff. I'd rather just draw the mountain. But apparently, I can't fully experience Mount Olympus unless I ski on it.

Whatever. If this is the experience, it's a wonder anyone comes here at all. If it wouldn't make me look like a crazy person, I'd give this mountain a piece of my mind.

"Don't be such a wuss," she says.

"You already knew I was a weakling," I mutter, only half-hoping she can hear me. She's kind of scary with those poles in her hands, and while I'm no longer afraid of her, you know, killing me or whatever, I wouldn't be surprised if she hit me with them. It might be interesting, but not on this mountain while I'm stuck in the snow. Not after that bizarre dream, and the fact that I considered killing the mystery person with ski poles. Hey, I had skiing on my brain.

Her smile lets me know that she's just bullshitting when she asks sweetly, "What was that?"

"Just give me a minute, please."

I give up. I'm no skier. And...I guess that's okay. I mean, it's embarrassing, but it isn't like she'll leave me if I don't become a professional. I blow my hair out of my face, suck up my pride, and use my pole to pop my boot out of the weird little holder in my ski. What is that thing called anyway? Whatever, it doesn't matter. I use my hands and boots to stand up and pop my skis back on. It's okay if I fall again, because really?

The smile on Larxene's face is something I could watch all day. My entire body is wet and cold, but there's a warmth in me connected to that smile. I wonder if this is how normal couples work, snippy and protective and...you know, loving or whatever.

Huh. We're a couple. It's still crazy to even think about privately. I'm not just a distraction, or a cute little pet she picked up in a moment of pity or boredom. We're a real live couple with couple-y goals and...yeah, I'm totally mushy. Whatever, at least one of us is.

I take a deep breath, push off...

And squeal. Larxene's smile won't save me from running into the big metal things holding up the ski lift and I'm gonna die and I won't have ever told Larxene I'm glad we're together and my employees will be jobless and I'll never get to tell Zexion goodbye and Roxas will probably be sad or something and I'll miss Dad's wedding and

Wow. Okay, so the slope of the bottom isn't anything like the slope of the top. This is almost horizontal. It's easier to slow down and I can do  _this_  to turn around. Looking up, I'm kind of embarrassed; that was the smallest hill and I had such a hard time with it. I guess this means I'm not going to accompany Larxene to any Black Diamond hills. The lodge is calling my name anyway; I really want to try their hot chocolate.

Larxene swishes up next to me like a pro - which she probably is, since apparently she's good at everything - and gives me a scary grin. "I'm not sure whether you were skiing or just constipated, but you made it. Want to go again?"

It was a question, so she's giving me an out. If she really wanted me to go with her, she'd just tell me to accompany her. "No, thanks. I'd rather just...go to the lodge and cry a little."

"Yeah, I figured." She digs in her pocket and brings out a key card. "Here. Go back to the room and in two hours, order something. I'll be starving when I get off the slopes."

Goddamn, I love this woman. She's selfish enough to leave me alone and it's exactly what I need. If she was super clingy, I'd probably end up hating her, and that's one thing I'd rather die than do.

I give her a shivering, shaky smile and take the card. "I'll be waiting."

There's a choice to be made here. Now that I'm alone, really alone for the first time in a while, I have to think about...everything we've talked about, and everything we probably should talk about. Because with her here, I can't focus on what she told me, about boundaries and feelings and that kind of thing, and I don't want to give away my horrible morning thoughts. I'm worried that I can't be the kind of person she needs, but I'll be damned if I don't try.

I trade my skis and boots for my shoes and get moving. I can't just stop anywhere and think about this. To be honest, I wish she hadn't brought up rules...but I'm also super glad she did, and this awareness is fucking with my head.

Our room is actually a cute little suite with a kitchenette and a giant bathtub, which I will be making use of tonight. Fucking snow is everywhere, even under my skin, or at least that's how it feels. But first I need...

I don't know what I need. I'm still too chicken to look up advice on the Internet, mostly because I might run into porn and porn is creepy, but also because there are a lot of weirdos on the Internet who don't necessarily know what they're talking about. Plus, what if Larxene isn't on the same page as me?

...What if she asks what's been bothering me all day? I can lie to her pretty successfully still, but what if she sees through me  _this_  time?

God, I'm such a psycho sometimes. I'll just...lie down. I'll just close my eyes for a minute, try to focus. Maybe things will become clearer if I do that meditation thing the crackpot psychologist told me about. I'll just breathe and

"Hey!"

Oh god, did I fall asleep?

My face feels stiff and scratchy and my clothes are dried crisply and uncomfortable on my body, so I can assume I've been asleep for a while. I didn't take a bath, I didn't change, I...aww, shit, I didn't order food like Larxene asked me to. And...

Wow. And I don't even care. I feel like something is inside my body, struggling to get out. I wonder if I'm sick. Probably. It's not like I take very good care of myself. But it could just be that after-napping grossness that sometimes happens. Or it could be stress. I mean, skiing took a lot out of me when I was already worrying about, you know, the things on my mind.

I make a groaning sound which doesn't hurt my throat. Not sick, then. I always get a sore throat when I'm sick. I'd like to say something, but what can I say? This is a different kind of speechlessness I'm not used to.

Larxene's looking at me like there's something she's dying to ask, something I probably don't want to answer, and I can't even bring myself to dad the question even though I know on an intellectual level that I probably should. I just feel so weird. Heavy and full and uncooperative.

"Hi," I say, looking at her mouth. I do that when I don't want to look her in the eye, which is pretty much all the time. Her eyes are gorgeous, but they make me feel like I'm going to float away and that is way,  _way_  not how I want to feel. Ever. It's like how the earth breathes in me. I like to stay grounded.

...Odd. That hasn't happened since we had the accident that killed Marluxia. I wonder if it's gone, or if I just haven't stood still long enough for it to happen.

She opens her mouth to say something, gives me a puzzled look, and shuts her mouth again. And again. And again. I think she's probably the only person in the entire world who doesn't look like a fish when she does this.

"Where's my food," she says at last. I'm glad she asked that instead of, say, asking why I was sleeping or why I've been moody all day. Or even just asking what's wrong with me. I don't even know why I'm avoiding her. She could maybe help. Or maybe she would laugh at me, which would still help after I got over being embarrassed.

"I didn't get any. I fell asleep."

"Yes, I can see that," she tells me, rolling her eyes. She sits down on the bed. "Want to tell me what's going on?"

I sit up and scoot next to her. My heart goes into my throat like it does when I'm super nervous. I have a few options here. Option A: tell her everything, hope it helps, and await judgment. Option B: tell her something, probably the worries about our relationship, and hope she doesn't notice that I'm lying by omission. Okay. I'll just

Or, option C: throw up on her. Way to dodge the bullet. Super fucking classy, really.

"Oh god, gross! Get off!" There's silence while I sit there holding my stomach. Then, she says quietly, "Are you okay?"

No, Larxene. I'm not okay. Problem is, I'm not sick, so I have no idea what's wrong. I guess we'll have to discuss things later.

Also? I am  _not_  showering with her this time.


	7. To Be Yourself Is All That You Can Do

 

You always hear about how people feel better or cleaner after a shower. Not so, apparently. Now that I'm out of the shower, the only thing I feel is embarrassed. I mean, I used to vomit when I was a kid - when I cried or got too angry or whatever - but I haven't done that since I was sixteen.

Yeah. Apparently, I'm not as strong as I thought I was, which is pretty dumb considering I didn't think I was strong at all. And I totally feel like a jerk for throwing up on Larxene. It wasn't my fault, but that doesn't make it any less...well, icky, as Axel would say.

I know what happens next. Larxene comes back, discovers that I'm not sick, and we have a Conversation. I know she won't lie to me - she doesn't really do bullshit well, and if she wants to hurt me, there are better ways - but I have to decide whether or not to lie to her. Normally I enjoy lying, but maybe I need to give it up for a while. For a night. For a couple of hours. It's just that if we want to be a real couple, secrets and lies will tear us apart. I don't believe in changing yourself just to fit in someone else's arms, but I do think she's worth the compromise.

...Sometimes my newfound maturity surprises me. I'm still reeling at the fact that I haven't run away yet.

"So," she says, inching under the covers with me. I should have put some clothes on. I'm not necessarily modest, but I just feel a little too exposed. "Wanna tell me now?"

Okay. I'll just spit out everything I can, and hope I can get through all of it before my brain catches up. Deep breath.

Okay.

"I'm terrified," I tell her. "I feel like I'm changing, but not into something compatible with the rest of my life. Will you still want me when you know me better? When you know the horrible thoughts in my head? I want you, Larxene. I'd even want you if you we're standing over me with a chainsaw. But that doesn't mean...I mean. I don't know as much about you as you do about me, and that's okay, but there's something in me that rebels every time you tell me what to do. I have two sides, the one that likes the idea of what will happen if I disobey, and the one that scoffs at the idea of being ordered around. I want you, but more than that, I want to keep you. And I have no idea how. And things are tearing me up inside, but until I know what exactly is going on here, I can't even say them out loud."

...Shit. When I decided to just say it, I didn't mean for it all to come out like a fluffy like cry for _attention_. Not that I don't want her attention. I just don't want it like this. She won't pity me, she's not like that, but I don't want her to think I want that from her.

She looks at me for a quiet moment and I'm terrified she's going to break up with me. The crazy part is, it would be an actual breakup.

"You're worrying too much, Naminé," she says, almost dismissively. "I don't think you and I have the same definition of 'want.' Besides, I doubt you could tell me anything that would make me leave."

Maybe she's right. But I don't think I can say it out loud just yet. "So...what exactly are we doing here? I don't mean here here, but...how is this going to work? I've been thinking about our conversation the other day, but I'm still not sure what..."

I wish I was gifted with words. My voice is doing that stupid watery thing and I don't even know how to phrase my question without sounding like a moron or just generally screwing it up.

"Tell me what you want," she says. The look on her face is almost hungry. I think she gets some kind of thrill out of making me tell her what's going through my head.

I shrug - partly because I don't know what exactly she means, and partly because I'd like to appear a lot more comfortable with this than I actually feel - and say, "I don't think I want what we initially discussed. It wouldn't be the same. I could live with it, but it would be more challenging than pleasurable and I think we'd both end up unhappy. But I...really liked it when you...you know. I don't...really know how to express this, but...um. Like I said...I'm at war."

She gives me an odd grin. "You know, you haven't really stumbled over your words like that in a while. I think it's indicative of discomfort. That means you're usually comfortable with me. And I think that means you can speak freely about topics we've previously covered. So there's something else bothering you, isn't there?"

"Yes," I tell her, "but I'm not ready to talk about it."

"Okay, then. As for your...relationship concerns, I already know you're not cut out for what you're thinking. To be honest, neither am I."

This makes me blink. What? I'd have thought she'd want something a bit more power-based than we currently have. It's already clear that she'd rather own me than love me. And she does own me.

"Don't give me that look, little girl," she says, almost chastising. "I like playing. You know that. You're not submissive enough to be a toy, and I'm beyond that stage. I need you to  _challenge_  me, not just let me play with you...besides, you can't play with broken toys. That's not how it works."

I don't know how to feel about this admission. I mean, on the one hand, it's such a typical Larxene thing I should have seen it coming. On the other hand, I don't know if I can challenge her, so what happens when she figures that out? "How does it work, then?"

"You're not submissive, but you are a masochist, from what I can tell. The two don't always go hand in hand. We act normal, do the things we usually do, and you let me know when you want something different. If I want something different, well...you take it, or you stop me. That's kind of the point."

I'm pretty sure I'd never stop her. I think she knows that too, but it's probably something that will go unsaid. "It sounds workable...but..."

"But what? Come on, Naminé, tell me. That's what you do when you're in a long-term relationship with someone."

Long-term? Despite the shitty situation, I'm going to die of happiness. Just a bit. "Why do you say I'm not submissive?"

"You want to  _keep_  me." I know it's the truth, but I can't figure out why, and I can't figure out how she knows. She slips down to cuddle me and I feel like I'm on fire. "I see the way you look at people - the way you looked at Zexion, the way you react when someone mentions your childhood. You're possessive and nasty and you hate it when people mess with things that are 'yours.' Even when those things are people. You refuse to let lesser people have power over you, like that fuckwad from when you re a kid, and you did that absolutely  _brilliant_  thing with your mouth this morning without asking for permission or waiting for direction."

"That..."

I think I should be flattered. From what I've observed, Larxene holds herself in the highest regard. I mean, I know her self-esteemed is kind of messed up, and she sort of compensates by asserting dominance over others, but the fact that she doesn't want that with me means that...

Well, what does that mean? She doesn't want a toy, she wants a partner, an equal. I don't consider myself her equal, but it's not up to me, is it? I may not feel like I even deserve her, but it's her decision to make. If she chooses to spend time with me, I should take her up on it. If she chooses to respect me, I won't shove it in her face. That's what clingy people do. That's what insecure people do when they want attention or validation. I'm insecure, yes, and I'm bitchy enough to manipulate her into validating me.

But I guess this means it's real love, because I refuse to do that.

"What?"

Oh, right. I never finished my sentence. "That was very astute. I'm not the type to just let go like that. And...you're right, I do get angry when my people get hurt."

I hope my face didn't do the pointed look it wanted to do. I don't want to undo what we've done here. But it looks like I didn't do a good job, because she frowns. "That's what's bothering you, isn't it? Zexion?"

"And you," I admit quietly. Before I have the chance to event think, I ask, "Have you ever considered killing anyone?"

" _No_ ," she says vehemently. "I may joke about it, but ultimately, I'm  _not that stupid."_

The unspoken addendum here is  _and neither should you be._  I feel like an idiot.

Larxene, thankfully, chooses to rescue me by saying, "I'm starving. Let's order food."

"Yeah," I reply, almost in a daze. "Sounds good."

I know she had plans to take me to Titan Peaks. I know she wanted to get an early start tomorrow. But I think...I'd rather just stay in bed, enjoying her. It's been a long time since we just sat still, and soon our little vacation from reality has to end. I'm trying to listen in on her conversation with whoever it is that takes food orders, but I'm still kind of...I don't know. I feel like there are only words, and I'm barely aware of my own body, except the burning thrill I get from touching skin and the complete lack of anything resembling arousal. But I just threw up, so it's not surprising that the hand stroking my hip bone isn't doing much other than giving me that nice burn.

"You know," she says, bringing me back to reality, "Marluxia once called you a ghost orchid. I didn't get it. But I think I do now."

Months of monotonous botany rants run through my head and I pick out the flower. Ghost orchid: gorgeous, fairly short-blooming, parasitic. Rare makeup, a dying species, but as with all orchids, associated with love and strength and beauty. I don't know what to make of that. Besides, I've always thought of myself as a dandelion: faithful, but ultimately an annoyance. But...maybe I don't have to be. Maybe it's time to cast off what doesn't work anymore.

Maybe it's time for a revolution.


	8. The Ghosts That We Left Behind

I hate the look she's giving me, the sleepy kittenish  _adoration._ I thought I'd love to see it from her, but now that I do, it's all kinds of wrong. It makes my stomach twist in a very unpleasant fashion. And I know it's just because I got her off and then we had a few glasses of shiraz and now I'm rubbing her calves and telling her how beautiful she is, but I feel like something's changed, and I think I probably don't like it.

I'm so fucking impossible. Seriously, how the hell does she put up with me?

We're on the last leg of our trip. We've got a few stops to make, including New York City for a quick job she has with Andalasia Designs and then New Orleans for beignets at the original Tiana's Palace, and it's like we've been in our own little world for so long that I don't know how I'll handle going back to Sweet Memories, carrying on like none of this happened.

I don't even know if Larxene's coming with me. We haven't quite broached the subject, other than my stupid blurted offer. I hope she does, but I wouldn't be surprised if she doesn't. The girl has issues. It's one of the reasons I like her so much, but still.

"It's funny," she says, stretching. "I don't usually like this domestic stuff. Lying in bed,  _cuddling,_ it all seemed so pointless."

_Until you,_ is the unspoken ending here, and this weird combination of elation and self-loathing bubbles up in my chest. For all that I like lying, I'm starting to see why people don't lie to their partners. Maybe it's stupid of me, but I worry that when she finds out everything about me, even the stuff I can't bring myself to say, she'll hate me. She'll leave. And no amount of reasoning with myself will make it go away.

"It is pointless," I tell her, instead of expressing my actual thoughts. "I mean, it's nice, but there really isn't much of a point, other than to relax."

She laughs. Usually she sounds a little shrill, terrifying, like a little girl who's torturing a puppy, and this time is hardly different, but there is still a difference there. It's less...intense, maybe, or maybe just less tense. "I know the difference between now and then. I can't imagine you doing any of this shit before me."

But I did. Kairi and I used to have sleepovers and we'd share a bed and talk for hours. I'd rub her stomach because she liked it and she'd lean her head back because I liked it. Looking back, I have to wonder why she never considered just how romantic it was. And then I've slept next to Zexion, because we're friends. And then there was  _Marluxia._ But in a way, she's right. The difference between Larxene and Zexion is how I feel about it. The difference between Larxene and Marluxia is the context. And the difference between Larxene and Kairi is...basically everything, but especially the fact that Larxene wants me, and Kairi didn't. I feel most comfortable with Larxene because...

Huh. I actually do. And it's because I'm not agonizing over unrequited love, I don't defer to her like I did to Marluxia, and I'm not worried that this might be taken the wrong way. "I guess you're right. I used to cuddle a lot, but it wasn't like this."

I should be feeling great. We went to a pretty fancy place for dinner, had the concierge bring us the shiraz once we got back to the hotel, and then just...spent some time with each other. I should latch onto this. I should be doing that whole revolution thing. But if there's one thing I know about myself, it's that I tend to resist change when I don't know the outcome. I'm scared. So sue me - I'm not the only person in the world who's scared of it. I bet Larxene gets just as scared as I do, albeit about different things.

She sighs in what has to be pleasure, judging by the little half-smile on her face. Stretches. She's gorgeous like that. I mean, she's always gorgeous, but the little things she does...it's really amazing, the way she can make me feel. I want her always. That's probably why I'm so scared for her to know the whole of me.

Hesitantly, I say, "You know...there's a lot about me you don't know yet."

"I'll figure it out eventually," she replies. "There's a lot you don't know about me, too. We kind of rushed into this whole thing. I've never gotten into a relationship this fast. I didn't think it was even possible."

Note to self: alcohol makes her chatty and honest. And affectionate.

I nod. "Yeah. I've only had one other relationship before you, but..."

"Marluxia, right?"

"Yes."

She sits up and grabs my hands so that she's holding them, holding me still, probably because she thinks I'm going to run away. I don't want to talk about Marluxia, so she's probably right to do so. "I know that you loved him."

"Did he tell you that?"

"Don't be stupid. I could see it. The way you looked at him...honestly, I've never seen that kind of...of guileless  _devotion_ before. You always seemed halfway to jumping up and bolting, but you only did that one time. All the other times, you stayed put. You listened to him. And he loved you back, I think...well, maybe not love, I don't think he was actually capable of that, but whatever passed for love. The point is, I didn't think I could  _ever_ feel like that about anyone, and I still don't know if I can, but if so, I want it to be you."

I can feel myself crying, which is stupid, because I've cried way too much in the last couple of months. I don't know if this is a scared cry or a happy cry or just overwhelmed tears, but they're definitely pouring out of my eyes and onto our clasped hands, and I wish she'd laugh at me because I know she'd never say this sober. "I..."

"You don't have to say anything. I know you'd rather I spank you than love you, but I thought you should know. Because our trip is almost over, and I don't want to just go our separate ways. Even if we don't move in together, or any of that shit, I want you to be with me one way or another. I know you want to keep me. Well, I want to keep you too. And I never let  _anyone_ get in the way of what I want."

"You'll have to keep me from running," I say. Well, at least my voice is watery because I'm actually  _crying_ this time, instead of because my voice is ridiculous. "I get scared and I jump up and run away because I don't deserve this, any of this, but I want it because I'm selfish and then I feel like shit because I shouldn't be selfish so I keep running away."

"I'll put you on a leash if I have to," she tells me, and then kisses me on the mouth, a gentle kiss I've never actually experienced from her or anyone else.

So we're here at the Marahute Hotel in the Outback, drunk and making confessions that we'll never admit to tomorrow, but we'll both know where we stand. And maybe I'm terrified and maybe it'll take me a while to not feel sick knowing that she actually adores me, a little, but I'll know it until I don't feel sick anymore.

I know she won't let me go until she's done with me. That's probably exactly what I need.


End file.
